


Shallow Graves

by VoodooBatsy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Apocalyptic Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Do-Over, End of the World, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Setting Zombies on Fire, Survival Horror, Time Travel, Undead, Violence Against Walkers, Walkers (Walking Dead), Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Hunters, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4819421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoodooBatsy/pseuds/VoodooBatsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People don't get second chances, it just doesn't happen, but Rick Grimes? Well he isn't going to waste this opportunity, no matter how impossible it seems, not now that he has a chance to save everyone. Not now that he's back at the beginning with a clear view of the horrors to come. People don't get second chances, but Rick Grimes has one, and he will not waste it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shallow Graves

* * *

* * *

* * *

_**Shallow Graves By VoodooBatsy (Blythe S. Lovett)** _

_**Chapter One - Second Chances**_

_**The Year 2010**_

_**Apocalyptic Year 01** _

* * *

Rick Grimes is thirty seven when he dies, and twenty-nine when he wakes up again. 

The first thing he sees is a white ceiling, dead florescent lights, and he can't help but blink in confusion. He is disoriented, weak, and in pain, but he remembers this place vividly.

His last memory is of an ocean, the most beautiful place he has ever seen, but it is tainted by the reason he is there. This place is where Rick Grimes kills himself, eight years into the Apocalypse, all alone aside from the corpses of his two children and his lover, staring out at an ocean in Mexico with phosphorus plankton that makes the water look like an inky black sea of stars. He is the last of their group alive, although there are chances that those who were separated may yet be alive. Rick smiles as he pushes each corpse over the edge of the cliff. He turns his back to the water, arms stretched out wide, and falls back like a bird with broken wings to the sharp rocks and crashing waves below. He is dead on impact, wishing he could have known all that was to come before it was to late.

Considering the dead walk the Earth nothing really surprises him anymore, not even spontaneous time travel or rebirth or whatever this is. It makes no sense, but it doesn't really surprise him that it can and apparently did happen.

Rick knows this hospital very clearly. He was in a coma for five months after all, laying in this same bed for one and a half months before the Apocalypse, and three and a half after it started. Two or three months without food or water or proper care, depending on how long it took for everyone to abandon the hospital. He's lucky he is somehow alive now that he thinks about it, and not wandering around as a walker.

Rick doesn't bother getting up just yet. His muscles are atrophied, his bones are weak, and he is suffering from malnutrition and dehydration. He needs to stretch himself out before he moves, otherwise he'll just be in more pain, lying on the ground defenseless, just like he was last time. He starts with flexing his toes and fingers and works his way up until he can somewhat comfortably move his body. His bones crackle and pop, his body aches and protests, but it isn't to long before he feels ready to start.

He swings his legs down to the floor and walks into the bathroom slowly, using the IV pole as a crutch to balance on, though he doesn't actually need it. He sips the water, washes the filth of his arms and legs, and he takes care of the mess in his boxers and under his bandages. He half wants to run all the way to the quarry, but he knows he needs to keep his strength up, he needs to get it up, and the hospital is safe enough for now.

Not to mention that it is a veritable treasure trove of potential items needed for survival. He needs to prove to his group that he is a good leader, a good provider, so that his decisions are respected and followed without too much fuss. Rick takes a few last sips of water and heads out to his room to take a look around. In the cabinet over the sink he finds a set of dark purple doctor's scrubs with a note sitting on them, warm fuzzy socks tucked into slippers with hard bottoms in his size, a bottle of Vicodin in Shane's name, a pair of Berettas with full clips, two water bottles, a box of granola bars, one of the police station CB radios, and a fire ax. Rick looks at the bounty curiously and flips the note open.

_Brother, If you wake up alone, or at all, don't panic. There's an epidemic causing the dead to rise. Aim for the head. Don't get bit or scratched. I will keep my CB on channel 04, make your way to Atlanta. I will keep Lori and Carl safe. Please stay safe, Shane._

Rick closes the note and smiles a bit despite himself, guilt and fondness warring inside him. Shane thought he was dead but he still took precautions in case he was not. He was so ungrateful, so cold, that first time around. How could he blame Shane for everything? It took two to tango, it took two to ruin a relationship, but Rick pushed all his hate on his friend in his foolish quest to save his marriage. God he was so stupid back then.

Rick dresses himself up with new gauze and pulls on the scrubs, socks, and slippers. He would prefer his uniform or his old clothes but the scrubs are better than soiled boxers and an open hospital robe. He leaves the hospital bracelet on, the little white plastic band around his wrist oddly comforting. He forces one of the unpleasantly flavored strawberry shortcake granola bars down with some water, knowing he will need it and that he should not complain. He doesn't take the Vicodin even though it is tempting to do so because they may need it later.

Pretty soon it is time to scavenge. Loot is such a strong word after all. He starts on his floor, the forth floor, and works his way around the hospital, armed with the ax and two guns he has no plans to fire if he can avoid it. On his floor he finds a large paramedic's bag, the hospital pharmacy, and a few mostly cleared out vending machines. He doesn't bother with the fifth floor or above after he reaches the door to hear moans louder than those of the cafeteria, but the third floor has a few lucky finds, including a few more axes, another large stock of medicine, and a few guns and grenades from the bodies of some military personnel. The second floor has nothing but a few lonely walkers and an empty pharmacy, and the first floor is only a little better, just a few random items of use. All in all he ends up with quite a good haul.

\------

Rick slings the heavy bag over his shoulder and heads out, plans forming in his head. He should head home first, if for no other reason than Morgan, Duane, and the guns from the station. He could do with a nice shower too. He checks the abandoned military transports for gas and manages to siphon enough into one of the camouflage army Humvees to get him as far as his home, maybe a little farther, but not enough to get him to Atlanta. He doesn't know if he will actually keep it, gas it up, or if he will use his cruiser like last time, but at least it is better than using the bike. He loads everything up in the back of the Humvee and heads back toward his home.

He has to hit his house first for the keys otherwise he wouldn't have bothered even heading there except to pick up Morgan and his boy. While he's there he grabs a few spare changes of clothes, gathers all the leftover canned food and non-perishables, empties the medicine cabinet and packs it all up into the Humvee. He makes sure to check for his emergency firearms, the baseball bats he'd bought to give to Carl as a birthday present back before he was shot and the world went to hell, all the kitchen and hunting knives, his fishing gear, and anything else he can think of. He is almost ready to grab Morgan and Duane when he remembers that Lori and the girls might need feminine supplies and he heads back to the bathroom.

As he is grabbing the forgotten boxes and bags from under the bathroom sink some neatly folded papers fall out. Curiously Rick looks down at them, then he shrugs and scoops them up and walks out the door. He opens them as he's walking, only feeling slightly guilty that he's intruding on Lori's privacy, and then he stops, the papers slipping from his fingers. Divorce papers? He had suspected something like that when Lori had said she didn't think he cared about them at all that day he was shot all those years or months ago, but being faced with the actual proof of her unhappiness is far worse than expecting them to be handed over to him one day. Even worse is the date in which they were drawn up and signed. Two weeks into his coma. She had them drawn up while he was laying cold and half-lifeless in the hospital. He bends down to pick them up again and is suddenly on the ground, courtesy of a shovel to the face. He isn't knocked out like last time, but his nose is bleeding a little, and his whole face is sore.

"Oh son of a bitch!" he cries, clutching his nose, and he glares up at his attackers. He expects to see Duane with the shovel, but Morgan is looking down at him instead, leaning on the shovel he just smacked Rick in the face with, a grim expression on his face. Duane is nowhere to be seen. Rick supposes that it must have something to do with leaving a day later than last time, knowing he needed to get a little strength up.

"Sorry." he says. "I thought you were a walker."

"Do I look like a walker?" he growls as he stands up, wiping the blood from his face.

Morgan shrugs. "A little bit, to be honest. You look half dead."

Rick laughs mirthlessly. "Well I have been in a coma, woke up to this, so I probably am half dead." he says bitterly. He looks at the darkening sky. "Getting dark. We need to get inside."

Morgan looks at the sky and nods. "We're in the house two down if you want to join us." he answers. "But if you try anything I will kill you."

Rick nods. "That would be nice, but we should be moving." Morgan looks like he's about to protest, giving Rick the perfect opener. "Something is keeping you two here, isn't it?"

Morgan looks ashamed and sad. "It's my wife." he says. Rick is surprised when Morgan points her out, wandering through one of the neighboring yard, far too close for comfort. "She turned about a week ago, but she keeps coming back. I should've put her down, man, but I just didn't have it in me."

"She isn't your wife anymore." Rick tells him solemnly. "You stay here and she's gonna be the death of you. Of your boy." He looks over to her. "I could take care of her so that you don't have to, but we will have to move out if I do. They'll hear it."

Morgan nods, pale as a ghost. "I'll go get my boy." He says. He hands Rick his gun. "Be gentle with her."

Rick nods. "We should stop at the police station." he motions to his military Humvee. "You can put anything we need in the Humvee. It doesn't have much gas, but the station has some gas, probably some guns if they didn't clear them all out. If nothing else I can grab one of the cruisers if we run low."

Morgan nods. Rick watches him go too Frank and Cindy's place and then makes his way over to Morgan's wife. He uses the ax from the hospital to take care of any other stragglers he sees. He puts the gun up against the bottom of her jaw and fires, flashing back to Beth's death for a second from how similar the shot looks. He shudders and walks back to the Humvee where Morgan and Duane are waiting for him.

"This your boy?" Rick asks.

They both nod. "This is Duane." Morgan says. "And I'm Morgan by the way."

"Rick." He says. "Rick Grimes."


End file.
